A Wizard's Volition
by The-Claymore
Summary: When Harry inadvertently activates a hidden portkey, he discovers that there is only one scenario worse than being stranded alone in parts unknown: being stranded in parts unknown with Draco Malfoy. Will the unlikely pair put aside their differences?
1. Prologue

_Prologue _

Branches snapped and tall grass was crushed underfoot as the two figures crashed through the dark forest. The leading figure, a tallish, skinny boy in his teens, gasped for breath as he dashed headlong through the underbrush, loam and leaves flying behind him in his wake. Every so often he would risk a glance over his shoulder. His pursuer seemed to be gaining on him. The boy was nearing exhaustion, but he was also absolutely terrified of whatever was chasing him. His legs begged him to stop this torturous flight, but his terror-crazed mind would not allow it. He may very well be running for his life.

If the prey seemed tired, the predator certainly did not. Black cloak billowing out behind it, the second figure ran doggedly on, making no noise whatsoever. The boy's mind referring to his chaser as an "it" because he was not entirely sure that "it" was a human. The thing's face was masked in shadow; the hood of the cloak enclosing nothing but a black void of visage. It would have been unnerving in any case. In this particular case, it may have been the most unnerving thing the boy had ever seen.

That particular thought was quickly proven wrong. When the boy next chanced a look over his shoulder, the thing had a wickedly curved sword in its hand. If the figure's intent had been uncertain before, it was now unmistakable. The boy was indeed running for his life.

It was at that moment that the boy, feeling faint and unsure just how much longer he could continue his sprint, saw the light. Ahead of him, a slim sliver of golden light penetrated the depressing gloom of the murky forest. It was perhaps a hundred feet distant. The boy had no idea what lay beyond that beam of light, but if he was destined to die this day, he would much prefer to meet his end in the sunlight rather than this dreary, fetid forest. Summoning what energy he had left, he put on an extra burst of speed. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he inched closer and closer to the welcoming light, which seemed to reach out to him, beckoning him forward. He looked over his shoulder again, daring to hope that his pursuer would be too far behind to catch him, when the tip of his foot caught on a rather large root. With a cry of dismay, the boy fell to the marshy ground, his glasses flying off his face and landing in front of him. Looking up, he saw the blurred opening through the trees, and a bit of blue sky and fluffy clouds. He was so close, yet so far away. He knew he'd never reach the opening now.

Reaching for his glasses, the boy put them on and slowly rose to his feet, the footsteps of his pursuer thudding softly behind him. Knowing his death was imminent, he turned just as the shadowy figure raised a gloved hand. The curved sword rose with it. The boy closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, awaiting the cruel slice of the blade. A stray breeze tossed aside a few locks of unruly black hair on the boy's forehead, revealing a jagged scar. A scar that closely resembled a lightning bolt. Unseen within the depths of the black hood, a grim smile slowly formed.

Then, the sword fell.


	2. The Meaning of Respect

Chapter 1 – The Meaning of Respect 

Draco Malfoy awoke with a start. Sweat coursed down his forehead, evading the strands of white-blonde hair matted down upon it. He had been dreaming again. Draco rarely put much stock in dreams, but this was different. The same sequence of events had appeared to him in his sleep every night for weeks. He would never admit it, but they were starting to disturb him… a little. The boy in that dream had seemed familiar. But it couldn't have been _him_, could it? That scar…

Draco lay there in his bed, allowing the cool summer breeze wafting in from the nearby window to calm and refresh him. It was just a dream, he thought. Nothing more. Certainly not something to worry about. Certainly not today, for he had much to do. His father would be taking him to Diagon Alley to purchase his new books and supplies for the school year. It would be his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts. At school he commanded a measure of respect from his teachers and peers. At school he was in charge, unlike at home. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had been on his nerves all summer. He was an overbearing person by nature, but these past few months had been much worse than ever before. As a Malfoy it was his duty to uphold the family's reputation for excellence, and his father was of the opinion that Draco hadn't been up to snuff lately.

"Bah," he said aloud. "What does he know… always stuffed up in the mansion. He's the one who's lost a step, not me."

"Master? Are you awake?" Draco rolled his eyes at the sound of that insufferably squeaky voice. That new house elf was just another reason he was so eager to get out of here.

"Master," the voice inquired again from the hallway. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, Roald. Be gone," Draco snapped. The pat of tiny feet down the hallway followed his words. Sighing, Draco heaved himself out of bed, stretching as he surveyed his room. Like the rest of the mansion, it was luxuriously appointed. Draco had been raised in luxury, as was befitting a pureblood family. The Malfoys were one of the oldest and most respected wizarding families in Britain, if not the world. He was proud of his lineage. He expected the lesser families to defer to him, and for those wretched muggle-borns to bow to him. Well, the latter may be a bit extreme, but he demanded the respect of those filthy mudbloods. They were inferior to him in every way, after all. Perhaps one day they really would bow to him.

"Draco, be ready to leave in a half hour. I will not be held up by your childish whims yet again," his father said from the doorway. Draco nodded, glaring at his father.

"I'll be ready."

"You had better be. And wipe that look off your face, or I shall do it for you." Lucius paused, narrowing his eyes at his son. "How can you expect to gain the respect of your classmates when you disrespect your own father?" he asked softly.

Draco did not respond, but merely turned away and walked toward his wardrobe across the room. Lucius Malfoy's eyes burned with fury as he stared at his son's back. The disobedient wretch had been like this all summer. At first the elder Malfoy had chalked it up to youthful rebellion, but he had finally had enough. Stalking across the room, he gripped Draco's shoulder and spun him around, pushing him toward the corner. Before Draco could react, his father slapped him on the face.

"You _will_ learn the meaning of respect, boy," Lucius growled in a dangerously quiet voice. "By the rod, if necessary. I _will not_ have my own son act in such a manner. Do you understand?" Draco stared up at his father, up into those cold eyes. Draco had never understood why his father was so hostile toward him. Even as a child, long before his time at Hogwarts, Lucius had been distant, often ignoring Draco completely. When he did bother speaking to Draco, it was usually to correct or berate him. Upholding the family's honor was a worthy pursuit… but Lucius was obsessed. Draco believed his father cared for nothing quite so much as the Malfoy reputation and prestige, even putting it above the family itself. After all, it was only a name…

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" These cold words snatched Draco from the depths of his reverie. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he managed a slight nod. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Yes father," Draco said weakly.

"Yes what?" Again, the question was not so much said as it was spat out.

"I will respect you." Glaring down at his son, Lucius grimaced in disgust. To be cursed with such a weak-minded son, what had he ever done to deserve this?

"Hurry up and get ready." With that, his father strode from the room, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. As he opened the wardrobe door and fished out a robe, a single tear rolled down his pale white cheek. He would just have to work harder to please his father.

If such a thing was even possible.


End file.
